


Bruce gushes about his formerly-dead children to Death itself

by oddopus



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddopus/pseuds/oddopus
Summary: Bruce has a near-death experience. That doesn't stop him from talking his children though. Luckily, Death is an eager audience.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Death
Kudos: 39





	Bruce gushes about his formerly-dead children to Death itself

Death poured a cup of tea. “I heard this is your favorite,” the god smiled. Perhaps not a god, Death itself didn’t prefer to be enshrined a god, though not many humans knew of that. Bruce looked possibly quizzical through his lens. He took his cowl off and laid it on the floor with the respect for a long-time partner.  
  
He breathed though his nose, and exhaled through his mouth. There’s a coolness, idleness even, in his chest that he hasn’t tasted in a long while, “so this is death.”  
  
“Who, me?” Death put its boney fingers on the corner of its mouth and widened its eye sockets. It chuckled out a little laugh, “Not quite, actually.” Death gazed gently at its child, nudging the tea cup in Bruce’s direction in a quiet act of hospitality and invitation, which Bruce gladly took. It’s a fond gaze, Bruce noticed. And the tea was truly Bruce’s favorite brand.  
  
Death looked expectant as Bruce drank. It seemed pleased as he melted into the fragrant. “I’m glad,” said Death. “Oh, you’re not quite dead yet though, this is what you call,” Death inched closer, “a ‘near-death’ experience.”  
  
Bruce thought it was a terrible joke. Death pouted, “The joke went better with the last one.” It poured itself another cup.  
  
Bruce felt Death’s side glance, which he wondered if malevolent or not. “Child,” Death sounded exasperated, “I love you as I love life itself.” Bruce still waited. “But yes, you have been very cruel. Not one, but two of your children came my way, and I welcomed them, and I loved them.” Death sounded like it could day-dream. “And they slept in my embrace, only to be wrangled away, back into life. Perhaps that’s a good thing. But you can imagine the pain in my heart, at being together at last with your beloved only to part ways.”  
  
Death’s gaze dropped, “Of Death, I’m young. And the pain is fresh, undealt, you understand. It’s quite shameful, yes.”  
  
Bruce thought about it, he didn’t quite feel like that was somehow shameful, especially when such pain came from love. He told Death so, and it chuckled in return. Sometimes someone just needed a bit of comfort and reassurance.  
  
“How are they doing?”  
  
“Jason?”  
  
Death waited a short note, and nodded.  
  
“Jason is…fine. We’re not really talking yet.” Now this is shameful, “It’s a work in progress.”  
  
“He’s got a temper on him, that little one,” Death swam in fond memory, “But I’ll spare you that.” Bruce wondered what ‘that’ meant, but he felt Death’s silence on it was an act of affection on its own, “Oh, tell him you love him lots, he would love that so much. What else? Tell me more about him.”  
  
“Jason…Well, he’s actually really good with younger kids, and soft to them, too. I send my youngest to fetch him whenever I really need him home.” Death nodded with all the seriousness in the world, its arm bones crossed in a weird contemplation. “And I don’t think he knows I know but I do know he’s registered for an online degree in English literature,” whispered Bruce. Death gasped, “That’s amazing. Literature, you say?” That reaction made Bruce so proud, it was as if he heard of the news the first time all over again. “Yes,” replied Bruce, “He’s leaning a bit more into theatre and playwright side of it. I’m trying to leave him more free time to focus on his study, actually.” Death looked positively excited, “Like Hamlet?” Bruce nodded. What a weird thing to be excited by, as Death. “I’m in that,” Death sounded wounded. Death is in everything, reminded Bruce. “But I feel like I’m, me, written in Hamlet. But enough about me. What bout the second child? The emerald child?”  
  
That must be Damian. The wound was still fresh in Bruce’s heart if he’s honest. And by the look of it, Death realized that too, “I’m sorry, child. I can’t follow the human time well. You’re still hurting.” Bruce gave no affirmation, though perhaps his silence counted as one. He gazed as Death, and he saw in its skeleton the heartbreak of a parent as well, the one he saw in the mirror. He felt a debt in his bone, such an abysmal debt, yet still very much one.  
  
“Damian…Damian is…” Bruce found it in himself to chuckle, “Well, he is just how he is.”  
  
Death looked alive as Bruce talked, “Yeah?”  
  
“It’s how he does anything with all of himself, and do so with pride in it.” Bruce remembered well, the time when he was requested by his youngest to sit down for a class portrait. It was a grade school assignment, which didn’t even begin to hinder Damian’s efforts. His child set up the hours for a warm lighting. Bruce asked him why when they took a break mid-way through the sketch. “He said I’m full of life, and of age,” reminisced the father, “He said I feel like the late afternoon sunlight.” Bruce smiled to himself, for a moment forgetting that he’s telling this to another.  
  
“What a poet,” Death was breathless, “What an artist.” Bruce took in the compliments like they’re for himself.  
  
Death gazed at him, “you’re not going to tell me about the violent parts?” It looked gentle still. “It’s still very much a part of their lives, and yours. And as long as you would have me, I would love to hear it.”  
  
“Perhaps the next time.” Bruce gazed over the calm water, his body melting away.  
  
Death nodded slowly, “Thanks for joining me for the tea, my child.” Its gaze looked like it was patting Bruce’s hair gently, “I’ll be here welcoming you always.” Its smile felt like a kiss on the forehead. Bruce thought he heard his name yelled, echoed, he knew the way from there. He looked back at Death, and he hoped that he could convey the gratefulness in him with his eyes, because it’s all he can manage now. Death smiled quizzically. And Bruce thought maybe this sentiment will have to wait for next time.  
  



End file.
